


possibly, maybe

by mosalyng



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Parallel Universes, angst?? fluff??, please don't kill me for doing wonhui dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13005855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosalyng/pseuds/mosalyng
Summary: Maybe the other realities of us are happy together, but in this world, we are happy in a different way.





	possibly, maybe

 

 

 

 

 

> a.

  
  
It's a typical morning; crisp air, people rushing. Cigarette smoke burns Junhui's throat as he tries to quickly reach the train station, not wanting to be late for class. School is always hectic, and no one waits for boys who oversleep after staying up till late at night.

He lands on a seat next to a man around his age, who is too occupied by the book he's reading to notice the company. His fingers are slender, and Junhui catches himself staring for a bit too long, but doesn't expect the stranger to pay attention; so when a quiet _you dropped your ticket_ reaches his ears, he stops breathing for a moment and sends the man a big smile instead of saying thank you.

It takes him a second to realize the words he heard sounded incoherent, their intonation not matching the one of Korean; it reminds him of his first months in Korea, the language odd and unfamiliar on his tongue. A newfound confidence rushes through his body as he decides to ask, speaking in Mandarin; the stranger suddenly raises his head from the book and looks at Junhui visibly surprised.

"Yeah, I am," he says, eyes still widened, apparently not expecting to hear his mother tongue on a morning train in the middle of Seoul.

Junhui smiles softly and notices how young the man looks, how lost he seems in this bustling city. Questions fill his head, ones he wants to ask, but the train begins to reach the next station, and before Junhui can open his mouth, the stranger grabs his bag with an apologetic smile.

“What's your name?”, he asks quickly before standing up from his seat, looking at him with sparks in his eyes.

"Oh, it's Junhui," the answer causes a smile to appear on the other man's face, one that looks purely sincere and unguarded.

“See you around, Junhui,” he says. “I’m Minghao, by the way.”

 

  
  
  
  
  
The promise that came with his words turns out to be empty because Junhui doesn't meet Minghao the next day, or during weeks that follow. He carries on with his life, quickly forgets about the encounter as he buries himself in books and essays he needs to write before the end of academic year.

 

 

 

  
  
  
Wonwoo invites him for chimaek a few days after the finals week, saying something about needing to drink the remaining stress away; Junhui immediately agrees and proposes meeting near the Han River.

He arrives late and texts his friend to ask about his exact whereabouts, looking around while waiting for a reply that doesn't come. His eyes eventually land on a crowd that has gathered around a dance group, and he acts upon his curiosity, walking in their direction to catch a glimpse of the performance.

Minghao’s there, right in the middle, a smirk on his face as he moves to the beat with effortlessly. Their eyes interlock and the dancer suddenly freezes, forgetting to move to the front; he keeps looking at Junhui with a flash of recognition in his eyes. When Junhui tears his gaze off, Minghao quickly makes up for his mistake, acting as if nothing has happened; as if he didn't make Junhui unable to breathe for a solid few seconds.

"Hi," Minghao says a few minutes later as he comes closer to the tree Junhui is hiding under. Sweat is still dripping down his forehead, and he keeps panting heavily, but his face is lit by a smile of satisfaction.

“Hello,” Junhui answers, and the whole encounter should make him feel uncomfortable, but when he asks Minghao out and gets an eager nod in response, a flood of warmth rushes through his body. A message, _can't make it, sorry wonu, will make it up to you_ , and they begin to walk in the general direction of clubs and bars.

 

 

They end up kissing that day, bodies pressed against each other in some dark alley. Minghao moans into the kiss when Junhui places a knee between his thighs, and they soon become a complete mess, a mixture of grunts and sighs and white lights under the eyelids. Junhui is alert enough to call a cab, tries to ignore Minghao's whines as he does, and soon they end up kissing and fucking on the floor of his apartment.

 

  
  
_See you around, Junhui_ , Minghao says as he leaves the next morning, but this time the promise is kept, because there’s a small note on Junhui’s kitchen table, with eight numbers written neatly on it. They begin to text each other daily (Minghao’s messages always seem serious, but Junhui knows better and responds by using too many hearts and cat emojis) and meet up at least once a week. Sometimes only for a drink, other times for a hookup, but they never talk about the nature of their relationship.

 

 

 

  
  
  
“I got in,” Minghao says, sitting on the edge of Junhui's bed and fidgeting nervously. It's well past midnight, and the room is being illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights.

Junhui freezes the moment he hears it, trying to ignore the needle that pierces through his chest and makes it impossible for him to breathe.

“What?”

“I auditioned and today they told me I got in,” Minghao explains, looking at Junhui with a glint of fear in his eyes.

It had to happen sooner or later; Junhui knew it from the moment he had learned about the reasons why Minghao moved to Korea, eyes shining and smile genuine as he told him about his dreams. He knows it, he knows how naive he is, but it doesn’t change the fact his body almost crumbles under the weight of Minghao’s words.

“Congratulations, Minghao,” he says, and he means it, he really does. “I’m so proud of you.”

 

  

 

 

 

 

> b.

 

Junhui passes by a stranger on campus; brown, soft looking hair, a frown painted across his face, plump lips, biology books in his hands. There’s a weird pain in Junhui's heart the same moment they make eye contact; something like untapped opportunities and losing a soul mate, but when he turns around, the stranger is already gone.

 

 

 

The encounter is already buried deep in his mind when Wonwoo tells him he loves him a few months later and kisses him, grips his hips hard enough to make a bruise. Junhui kisses back desperately, looking for something he should feel but doesn't, not then, and not ever in his life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> c.

 

Wonwoo invites him over for Chuseok as soon as he learns Junhui is planning to spend the holiday alone, watching old Chinese dramas in his dorm room. He doesn't mind the solitude, prefers it even, but Wonwoo insists, tells him about his family and their kindness, so Junhui agrees.

They spend the day at the house of Wonwoo's uncle, eating homemade songpyeon until their stomachs are full. It's the first time Junhui forgets about his homesickness ever since he's moved to Korea. It's nice and cozy; something he could get used to if he wanted to, but he decides not to let the thought grow.

When Wonwoo's younger cousin tugs at their sleeves after the main feast, asking them to play with her, they look at each other and nod simultaneously. She takes them to her room and begins to show Junhui around, smiling a toothy grin that reminds him of his younger brother. The walls are covered by posters of idols Junhui doesn't recognize, but there's one that catches his attention, hung right above her bed. It shows a group of eleven people, the tranquil and vast sea behind them.

He notices a man in the middle, and it's as if he’s seen him before. His facial features seem familiar and God, that smile. Junhui feels like he’s learned it by heart, the way little dimples show up along with it, the sound of his laughter. A weird feeling settles in his chest, and he wonders about its origin.

“He’s the main dancer, but he also helps with lyrics and choreography,” the girl says upon the realization that Junhui is still staring at the poster of eleven boys, paying special attention to the one in the middle. “Oh! He’s Chinese, too. His name’s Minghao.”

“I know,” Junhui responds quietly and spends rest of the day tasting the name on his tongue.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

> d.

 

Junhui is walking the streets of Hong Kong with his friend when a Korean man approaches him. His Mandarin is broken and barely understandable, but Junhui gets the gist of it and tells him he has to ask his mother. The man nods and hands out a business card, which ends up crumpled and damp after hours of touching and looking Junhui does before coming back home.

Everything happens kind of fast after that; he spends too many hours in practice rooms, gets tired of the green walls, but decides to endure it and gains strength every time his mother encourages him over the phone.

Minghao joins the group later on, as they begin to prepare for a debut. Junhui immediately grows fond of him, smiles softly every time Minghao asks him about some Korean word and talks about his family back in Anshan.

"I know, Hao Hao, I know," he says every time and condemns himself for sounding uncompassionate, but Minghao always responds with a nod that tells Junhui he understands everything.

 

 

 

During the years they spend together, Junhui often finds himself treating Minghao like a brother, feeling a need to protect him from harmful words and homesickness; but Minghao eventually grows out of his confusion and begins acting confident, words sharp and facial features mature. He takes over the stage every time they perform, making everyone look at him with adoration in their eyes. Junhui feels it too, every time he observes Minghao dancing and practicing until late at night.

 

 

  
It's the first concert of the Diamond Edge tour. Junhui finds Minghao backstage, shuffling his feet nervously; he considers telling a dumb joke to Minghao cheer up, even if it meant getting an irritated look in response, but eventually decides against it.

"Hey, Hao Hao," he says, reaching out to grab the younger man's hand. He’s nervous, too, more than he would like to admit, but tries his best not to show, hiding it behind a calm smile. "Ready?"

Minghao wakes up from his trance and looks up before putting his hand in the larger one. "Yeah," he answers breathily and leads the way as they walk into the sea of rose quartz and serenity lights.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! ♡ i would greatly appreciate any kind of feedback ;;
> 
>  
> 
> credits for the title go to bjork; the summary comes from the song "maybe in another universe, we..." by outgone because it's 1am and i can't think of anything better.
> 
>  


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